


Vignettes from Collinsport

by quietcuriosity



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietcuriosity/pseuds/quietcuriosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fic collection crossing various timelines and characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1970s  - Carolyn and Quentin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes in the Graveyard Shift: Collinwood was historically active at all hours. Carolyn reflects on how that activity has changed.

There was no doubt about it: the house was active at all hours of the night. But the more Carolyn thought about it, the more she realized that the activity had changed dramatically over the last six years.

She could still remember the old darkness of the house and sudden soft sounds from the piano shooting through the silence, indicating that her mother was still in the drawing room, dressed in her finery and playing for no one at all. Other nights she would hear the arguments of her uncle Roger and aunt Laura before she would toss a pillow over her head and will their words away. Still other nights she was the phantom as she tiptoed her way to the door and, if all had gone as planned, into the city to spend her time with near strangers.

Victoria had changed it all, hadn't she? Her presence in the house brought in a sea of new faces and voices: curious, angry, and scheming. But it was so different than before: her mother shook off her malaise and into action; Roger moved on the defensive against old foes; and she and David pushed and strained against the remaining adult boundaries as the house became more chaotic.

Barnabas, and later Julia, just continued that trend. Even more strangers entered the fold, forcing all them to confront new challenges, and—for lack of a better term—grow up. Mother managed the house with aplomb, Roger finally began to care about the family business, David’s knack for mischief was met by his growing concern for others and she…she finally began to calm down. But she still had the nightly wanderlust.

It just wasn't the same people that roamed the halls with her. Carolyn knew her mother to be sound asleep. Uncle Roger was away in Bangor. When she walked past David’s room, she heard nothing but silence.

The new guard kept their hours downstairs. She walked by the office and peaked in to see Barnabas and Julia pouring over old books. Julia caught sight of her and brought a single finger to her lips. Carolyn nodded and walked on.

The drawing room doors were cracked and Carolyn took that as an invitation to walk in. There she found Quentin, brandy snifter in one hand and a book draped across his lap. His eyes glanced up toward her; the smile hit them before spreading to his lips. He motioned with his free hand for her to come closer. She did so eagerly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He gestured toward the book and said, “It comes courtesy of East Wing.”

"So you’re helping Barnabas and Julia with whatever they’re doing?" He nodded. "Well," she said, "you wouldn't mind if I helped you?"

"Be my guest." Quentin reached down and plucked another book from a short stack. "There’s more than enough to go around."

"Thank you." Carolyn took the book from his hand and asked, "You really don’t mind?"

"No at all. I’m just surprised to see. I assumed you’d be asleep."

"Oh, I’m kind of a night owl." Her brows furrowed. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

Quentin laughed softly. “It’s a long story.”

"That’s all right. We've got all night."


	2. 1970 - Maggie and Roxanne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Wounds: Theirs was an unexpected connection. But what that connection really meant wasn't readily evident.

“Find him?” she asked. “I didn't find him—he found me.”

"That seems right, " said Maggie, her voice almost a whisper. "He found me too."

Roxanne nodded and leaned close, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Where? I was at Collinwood when it happened.”

"I was in town. I was at work and he walked in just before closing. He was so pleasant that night. But then he invaded my dreams, and then my home, and then…"

"That is his way. He was so charming and different from everyone else. But he kept creeping deeper and deeper into my life and I thought I couldn't live without him. Still, I had this faint inkling that it was all just…”

"Wrong," said Maggie. Her eyes shot up towards Roxanne’s and noticed tear trails from the corners of her eyes. "Through it all part of me still knew that it was wrong!"

"And that may be why you lived. Your mind was clouded but it wasn't by anything so insidious as love," she said, her mouth slipping into a scowl with the last word. Her hand wiped the tears from her eyes and she let out small sigh. "I’ve learned to accept what happened to me."

"How nice for you." Maggie’s eyes broke from Roxanne’s and glanced to the floor. She squirmed against the wall. "I had forgotten what he had done to me until I met you."

"That is the irony of it all, isn't it?" The hand on Maggie’s shoulder slipped closer to her neck and a stray finger flicked the bandage. "I can comfort myself by saying that I am what he made me but that’s no consolation for you."

"It’s not, " said Maggie. "You don’t have to do this"

Roxanne shook her head. Her hand moved to cup Maggie’s chin and shift her gaze back to her. “You know that’s not true: I need something from you and you, despite it all, will feel compelled to give it to me. But there will be no illusions between us. It’s the least I owe you. We have so much in common.”

"Do we really?"

Maggie closed her eyes and fell against the wall. It didn't surprise her to feel Roxanne’s arm wrap around her or to feel her fingers rip off the bandage. Her breath danced against her neck and Maggie let out a gasp as her fangs slipped in the wound. Her arm drifted up until the hand latch onto Roxanne’s hip. There they held each other until Maggie slipped into unconsciousness.


	3. 1890s - Beth, Jenny, and Quentin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waste the Day Away: Given the size and scope of the family home, Beth knew she should have been allowed to go about her affairs in peace. That was not to be.

It should have been easy to go about her business at Collinwood. This wasn't the first large home in which Beth had worked: combine a large house, a sizable but busy family, and multiple servants and you have a situation where even the attendants should be able to avoid anyone so long as their jobs were done.

But her lady, after a spell of wanting to be mostly alone, decided to rejoin the family during their daily activities. And Jenny had decided to promote Beth to be her constant companion, to sit beside her during certain family gatherings and provide a calming demeanor when needed.

Beth did what she was asked; she didn't have a choice. She sat through sewing circles, afternoon teas, and other minor events in the Collins women’s afternoons. She intended to keep quiet but Jenny had the habit of pulling her into whatever discussion she was engaged in. Beth would stumble her way through the conversation, almost always keeping her eyes to the ground. It was the only way she could avoid Judith’s exasperation or Laura’s mirth with her answers.

She was grateful to be excused from family dinner, even if Edward’s rejoinder to Jenny’s request would have lodged bitterly in her mind under any other situation: “A servant hasn't sat at the family table in over a hundred and I will not be the first to allow it.” It was an excuse to get away from them all and rush through the tasks left dangling by her days as a lading in waiting.

She only had around an hour to work through these things. As soon as the clock reached the hour mark, Quentin appeared at the door. “My dear wife requests your presence in the drawing room,” he always said, voice almost cheerful.

Beth cringed at the thought. She ended up sitting between the two of them. Jenny would turn to her, friendly, and attempt to include her in whatever the conversation entailed. Quentin would use any excuse to lean close to her, accidentally touch her, and watch the crimson rise in her cheeks as she tried to maintain her composure.

"Mrs. Collins will be furious if I don’t finish this," she always said. It was true: something inevitably fell through the cracks and needed to be finished before the day ended.

Quentin smiled and walked closer. He reached out and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Jenny will miss you. And so will I.”

Beth did not look up. Snippets of his body moving closer, his mouth upon hers, and then moaning out into the night would flash into her mind whenever they were alone. She needed them to stop. She would tear away from him and head toward the door. “I don’t know why I’m the only one to suffer this,” she said through gritted teeth.

His footsteps resonated behind her and soon he was at her ear. “My dear, it is because you are so serious.”

"If you cared about your wife, you would take it seriously too."

Beth walked away, always careful to keep a quick, even pace. If she heard his footsteps, she was going too slow.


	4. 1960s - Chris Jennings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headline News: The papers could never quite capture the whole story surrounding a werewolf attack.

They had it all wrong. They always did.

Chris always read the newspaper reports that detailed the previous night’s attack. It never failed to surprise him when they described the condition of the victims. Every rip and tear was lovingly mentioned. The amount of blood was sometimes exaggerated and it was always redder and stickier that actual blood really was. Missing and eviscerated body parts were a clear favorite to describe, particularly if the severed limb was found some ways away from the corpse. But nothing held quite so dear as descriptions of the victims' faces—or whatever was left of them. They were details that really drove the lost humanity of the situation home. They let the reader at home almost feel as if they were at the scene of the crime. 

It lets them know what kind of violence lives in their fair city. They made these events stories for the readers to cringe and fret about but then “tut tut” their disapproval and wonder aloud about how far society had fallen since the days of their youth.

Chris couldn't blame the papers for their theatrics. Even he had to admit that they were fascinating stories.

Then they would lose him by describing the violence committed as something that only an animal would be capable of committing or enjoying. He understood why they always ran with this phrasing. Any action that a human was incapable of comprehending was inevitably blamed on an animal.

But they missed the aspect of man in these events. There were obvious things such as that there were no signs of the body being toyed with or that no animal large enough to commit such brutality were native to these areas. They also missed how their own reactions fit into the picture. After all, no animal but man would take such twisted pleasure in the scene. No other animal would constantly retell these stories with such awe that they set their perpetrator on such a high pedestal.

He knew that the attacker wasn’t so much an animal that walked like a man but man pushed to the extremes of his nature. But that was knowledge he kept to himself. It was a story no one wanted to read.


End file.
